Broken Bonds
by Marquis Black
Summary: In the shadow of a burning World Tree, two former comrades try to make sense of a world gone mad. [One-Shot]


_**AN: **So, surprise!_

_Yeah, I'm not dead or missing. I've got nothing but apologies for the time I've been AWOL, but I've been going through some stuff and it's been really, really difficult to write for me. Even so, I have some projects in the works (including unposted original fiction), and I've been slowly trying to get back to writing for LoU, Emperor, and Sith'ari, although ETAs on next chapters are still pending._

_Anyway, this one-shot just came to mind after having actually played through the whole scenario wherein it happens. Originally, it was meant to be the intro to a much larger story involving the two characters, but I figured it'd be best to leave it as a one-shot. Hope you enjoy it!_

_Marquis Black_

* * *

_Champion_.

Velenna felt her soul flood with horror as she watched, her poleaxe hanging almost limply from her fingers and bathed in the light of the distant flames, as the home of the Kaldorei burned before her eyes. Even from this distance, across the narrow sea between Lor'danel and Teldrassil, she swore she could hear the distant screams of the inhabitants as they tried to avoid burning to death.

Only belatedly did she realise that the screams weren't coming from the Great Tree, but rather from the prisoners behind her. The prisoners she had helped capture.

_The Light of Dawn_.

Even from the beach she stood upon, she could feel some of the heat wafting through the air — a testament of the blaze's strength. Unless the inhabitants of Teldrassil had a surplus of mages on hand, few would be able to evacuate in time by her estimate.

"An'she protect us, what has she _done_?" someone to her right exclaimed softly. Tauren, she guessed based on their deity of choice.

_Highlord._

She wasn't sure how long it took, but Velenna eventually tore her eyes away from the horrendous spectacle, unable to watch any longer. All around her, her comrades-in-arms of the Horde seemed similarly stunned and unsure how to react. Only the warriors of the Undead seemed unfazed by what had happened — but then, the reason why was pretty obvious.

Still,no cheering could be heard among the stunned Horde forces as she walked away from the scene, shame welling in her gut.

_How has it come to this?_

Velenna could hardly reconcile this act of..._barbarism_ with the cause she had been called to fight for. The Warchief's reasons, though a bit cynical in her opinion, had nonetheless been rational. Taking Teldrassil would've forced the Alliance on the backfoot, giving the Horde precious time and leverage to make sure the Kaldorei wouldn't encroach on the Horde's claim to the Azerite deposits in Sillithus.

Reasonable.

So despite her misgivings, she had agreed to the Warchief's call to arms. Donning the armour she had worn to fight the Burning Legion on the Broken Isles, then Argus, she had grabbed her old, trusty poleaxe — Ashbringer was no longer an option after it had grown unstable in the purification of Sargeras' Sword — and fallen into ranks with her fellow Horde soldiers. The choice had been relatively easy, all things considered — Velenna was a soldier. A Blood Knight. Her loyalty to Silvermoon was unquestionable, unwavering. And if Silvermoon had heeded the Warchief's orders, then she would, too.

But not like this. There was no reason to any of this.

_For the Horde. For Silvermoon._

She snapped out of her misery-fuelled daydreaming when she heard the sharp snap of a branch breaking underfoot. Without realising it, she had walked into the forests of Darkshore, some distance away from Lor'danel and the rest of the Horde forces. Yet, even so, the forest was illuminated with the reddish-orange glow of the distant fire.

She lifted a hand as she caught sight of something falling slowly from the sky, catching it in her armoured hand. Ash. The sight of it falling like unseasonable snow brought back bitter and unwanted memories of the Broken Isles and Argus, where Ashbringer had time and again cleaved right through the Burning Legion's ranks, turning her foes to ash, often causing her to return to camp looking as though she'd dived into a pile of it.

Many of her fellow paladins had ribbed her good-naturedly over this, especially since she was usually fastidious about her appearance. Seeing the Highlord of the Silver Hand scrubbing away at her armour and Ashbringer had fueled many a joke and tall tale in at the Chapel, but while it had detracted somewhat from her dignity as a leader, she couldn't begrudge her subordinates their levity in light of the horrors they faced every day.

Such levity was long gone these days, and seeing several of her (now former) subordinates fighting on the opposing side here, in Darkshore, had broken her heart. She had made a determined effort to stay away from duels with her former charges, some part of her rationalising this as acceptable enough to justify her continued participation.

But she knew better, deep down: the bonds they had forged fighting the Legion were now irrevocably broken.

Especially…

"I can hear you out there."

She didn't move. She didn't have to. Sure enough, the soft footfalls she'd heard came closer, and as she turned to glance in their direction, the very last person she had wanted to see right now came into view, bearing the damnable lionhead crest that would haunt her nightmares for the foreseeable future.

"Garside," she greeted him softly.

"Highstrider."

Where just a month ago that greeting would have been full of warmth, nothing but cold anger permeated the tone of her former lieutenant, Aiden Garside. The Human paladin stopped a few feet away, his iconic tower shield thudding against the ground as he came to a stop and rested it on the soil. In his hand, already unsheathed, was a blade she didn't recognise — unsurprising, given that all the artifact weapons used in the fight against the Legion had, for the most part, been locked away.

She avoided looking at him, instead peering around her.

"Is this an ambush, Garside?"

"Paladins don't ambush."

That stung more than Velenna liked to admit.

"So you being here means the Alliance finally dispatched their reinforcements," she observed lightly. The ash was starting to fall more frequently now — the fire at Teldrassil must've gained even greater strength.

"They're coming," Garside confirmed before raising his unsheathed sword to point at her. "But I'm here alone. I wanted a word, _Highlord_."

Again, Velenna flinched. The venom that he'd injected into her title only served to remind her of her recent actions and how conflicted it'd made her feel. Fighting the furbolgs at Blackwood Den hadn't been much of a weight on her conscience — they were barely more than savage animals, after all, for all their pretenses at civilisation. Taking Astranaar and Lor'danel, too, had been military objectives that made sense, especially in light of the plan to occupy Darnassus.

Burning the World Tree had not been the plan.

Garside would've understood the first three. He, like Velenna, was a military man. He understood that war was war, even if the cause for said conflict was ridiculous to his mind.

But burning a city and its civilian population to death? That went too far.

"I want an explanation, _Highlord_," Garside growled as he stood there, his gaze full of judgment and contempt. He swung his sword away from her suddenly, pointing it in the direction of the reddish-orange glow beyond the forest. "For _that_."

"I don't have—"

"That's not good enough!" Garside yelled, interrupting her. Again, the blade was pointed at her. "You don't get to say you don't have an explanation, _Highlord_! Not after _that_!"

Velenna's gaze hardened. There was no arguing with her former subordinate when he was like this. "I was going to say that I don't owe you an explanation, Aiden."

The human paladin looked stunned by her words before his visage — what little was visible — purpled up. "You—!" he exclaimed, charging forward. Velenna rolled away from Garside's blow and quickly unclasped the poleaxe on her back, bringing it forward.

And just like that, the fight was on.

Velenna's eyes glowed with the Light as she infused her weapon with its power, slashing and stabbing at her former ally, who doggedly resisted her blows behind his shield, lashing out here and there as the opportunity arose. The problem was that, in general, paladins were their own worst enemy — a shieldbearer, like Garside, was tough enough to exhaust any opponent, while a vanguard like Velenna was fast enough to whittle away almost any opponent. This meant that, before long, the two paladins were practically on their knees from exhaustion. It hadn't helped that their mutual experiences in the Broken Isles and on Argus had sharpened their fighting skills to their peak.

Garside was the first to collapse, resting against a tree marred by gouges made by Velenna's poleaxe. Velenna followed shortly after, also falling to the ground, breathing heavily. Unlike Garside, she rested upon the open ground, looking up at the still-reddish-orange sky, the ash now falling freely onto her face.

"Still...as stubborn...as ever…." she remarked between gulps of breath.

"Still...a pain...in my ass…" he rejoindered.

Velenna smirked briefly before they descended into tense silence. Whatever their banter, the facts remained: Garside had attacked _her_, his Highlord. Their peoples were at war. Their bond was broken.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out, still staring at the sky and letting the ash fall onto her face without a care.

"Apology not accepted," he replied.

"Worth a shot."

Again, silence reigned, but for the distant sounds of the Horde army in Lor'danel mobilising.

"Why did you do it?"

There was no need to elaborate. "My people called me to war. I answered."

"And the World Tree?"

"Warchief's orders."

"It was wrong."

"It's war."

"People died, Velenna. Innocent people."

"So were mine, at Silvermoon. So were yours, at Stormwind. So were that old goat's, on Argus. Innocent people die all the time, Garside."

"Even you don't believe that load of shit."

He was right, she didn't. But they were at war, and while she had her misgivings about the burning of Darnassus, she was loyal to Silvermoon and, consequently, the Horde. So she stayed silent, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a response that would prove him right.

Again silence permeated their surroundings, save for the distant sounds of the forest and the Horde forces.

"What happens now?" she asked.

"I can't beat you," Garside admitted reluctantly.

"I can't beat _you_," she agreed.

"I guess that's why we made such a great team against the Legion."

She concurred privately. Despite her antipathy for the Alliance, Garside had been an effective lieutenant, helping her keep the Silver Hand united by keeping his side in check while she kept hers in line. It had been, all things considered, a fruitful and effective partnership.

"All good things come to an end," she said with great melancholy.

"It didn't have to."

Velenna actually chuckled at the insinuation. "What? Defect?"

"It's an option," he insisted defensively. "I'd vouch for you."

"That's sweet," she said, somewhat surprised by how touched the sentiment made her feel. "But I can't. My loyalty is to the Horde."

"Your leader's a lunatic, Velenna."

With a grunt of exertion, Velenna pushed herself into a seated position, returning Garside's stare. "Maybe, but so long as Silvermoon stands by her, I will, too."

This time, Garside was the one to chuckle.

"What?" she asked.

"I guess you don't remember, but the last time you said that to me, Garrosh Hellscream was Warchief."

Velenna did remember that, in fact. She remembered it all too well. She remembered their confrontation shortly after Theramore had been bombed by Garrosh. She remembered the look of outrage on Garside's face as they faced off in one-on-one combat. How, like now, they had ended up in a draw. He'd recriminated her back then, too, when she declared her loyalty to the Horde even after witnessing Hellscream's horrific actions firsthand.

"As I recall, you called me a puppet," she said with a wry smile.

"Weren't you?" he challenged her. "_Aren't_ you?"

"A puppet doesn't think, Garside. Doesn't feel. They just do whatever the puppeteer wants." Slowly, she got to her feet, grabbing her poleaxe on her way to her feet and using it as a support. "I think. I feel. And I rebelled against Garrosh, remember?"

"_After_ it suited Silvermoon."

"Would you rather I rebelled on principle?" she shot back, dusting herself off. "I'm sure your _vaunted_ morality would've been satisfied when you visited my _grave_."

Garside grunted as he remained sitting against the tree, but still tried to sit further upright. "I've never liked this part of you, Velenna. Always willing to set aside what's right for what's convenient."

Velenna shot him a smirk. "And I never liked your self-righteousness, as though the Alliance's way is the only way." She pointed her poleaxe towards the fiery glow in the distance. "I may not have liked what the Warchief did today, Garside. I may even have my doubts about her suitability to lead us. But she still defends my people. She still commands the loyalty of Silvermoon. For that, she still commands me."

"You're deluded, Velenna," the human paladin chided her. "And lost."

"And you're naive, Aiden," she told him with a calm that surprised even her. "And a fanatic."

She turned back to look at the glow beyond the forest, feeling a weight not quite leave her shoulders, but at least lose some of its hold on her soul. Fighting Aiden Garside, her former lieutenant, had helped her clear some of the cobwebs from her mind: for all of his self-righteousness and professions of high-minded morality, he hadn't hesitated for a _second_ before believing her capable of burning Teldrassil out of sheer spite. Just by virtue of serving someone who _had_, he had easily come to believe that she was personally just as capable.

Sylvanas Windrunner was right, in the end — no matter how disgusted she was with the concept. No matter how many bonds they had formed in fighting the Legion, the Alliance would never trust the Horde, nor would the Horde ever trust the Alliance in turn. Too much bad blood between them.

Thus, as she stood before her former subordinate, Velenna finally made peace with her choices thus far. Sylvanas may have gone back on her word, but the course was set — no amount of pleas for forgiveness or appeals would change the facts: the Horde was at war, and the Alliance would see their losses avenged before long.

She didn't have to like it — she just had to accept that this was reality and make the best of it.

The Sindorei way.

"You know we're coming for you," Garside told her. "All of you."

"I wouldn't expect anything less, Aiden," she told him as she turned to leave the area and return to the Horde forces. She didn't want to miss the portals to Orgrimmar — even on horseback, the trip back to the Horde capital was _long_, and she hadn't brought her faithful flying steed with her on campaign. She threw him a casual salute as she walked away. "See you when I see you, Hand of A'dal."

"See you, Velenna of the Four Winds."

And just like that, as she walked away from the scene of their battle, Velenna and Aiden were no longer Champions of the Silver Hand. Once more, they were Velenna and Aiden, champions of their respective factions. Their friendship, if it could even be called that, buried in the ashes of Teldrassil.


End file.
